


Without You (I Fall)

by She_Without_Rain



Series: We’re Screwed Up People in a Screwed Up World (But You’re Perfect) [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Author is taking liberties with the timeline, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, But Author has a shaky grasp of PTSD, Clint Is a Good Bro, Everyone is struggling, Fix-It Natasha, Go Nat, Google Translate Did My Russian, He Also Needs A Whack On The Head, I guess Steve needs one too, M/M, Natasha Does It, Natasha knows all, Natasha ships it, Poor Bucky, So many tags, So much angst, Steve is struggling, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony is struggling, Ultron happened but JARVIS lives, WARNING for mentioned suicide of a minor character, bucky is struggling, ptsd tony, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-06 04:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14634195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She_Without_Rain/pseuds/She_Without_Rain
Summary: “Why is he avoiding me?” The question sits in the stillness of the early morning air.“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Sir that yourself.” JARVIS sounds almost gentle.____Bucky’s falling fast, but he can’t ask, and Tony won’t tell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has become a series thing now?? There’s two parts to this, and I aim to have the second part up within the next couple of weeks (if I can actually stick to the schedule I make for myself!).  
>   
> THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the amazing comments on Imperfect Fit. I was completely blown away by the response.  
>   
> I have a tumblr, but I don’t know what I’m doing there, either, heh.  
>   
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shewithoutrain

The metal arm gleams as Bucky runs the soft cloth over its form. He fancies he can see Tony’s handiwork in it. The stylish design, the sleek curves. He dabs on a bit more polish and works it in.

For some reason, it smells like Tony.

He flexes, making sure he hasn’t missed any spots, watching the play of light. He still can’t get over the way there is no strain on his shoulder. It had taken a few days of lopsided walking and over-gesticulating to adjust to the lack of weight. He wants to show his thanks to Tony. Wants to shove him up against a wall and kiss him. Wants to drop to his knees and suck him while Tony pulls his hair, wants to know what it’s like if _Tony_ was doing the sucking because memories of his tongue over Bucky’s metal fingers still haunt his dreams. There’s a flash of saliva-slicked fingers and a supple pink tongue and Bucky’s throat tightens and he has to shift in his chair. He curls the fingers, trying to get himself under control.

It’s not working.

Almost guiltily, he pops the button of his jeans and undoes the zipper. His flesh hand grips firmly, and Bucky pretends it’s Tony’s hand, calloused and rough from decades of inventing. He wets his lips, eyes fixed on the metal fingers, remembering the way Tony had worshipped them. The soft sucking sounds, the wet pop as Tony had pulled off one finger only to go right back down on another. Tony’s rough breathing as Bucky had stroked him — and Bucky has to grip himself tightly then — the memory of the harsh pull of fingers in his hair; Tony’s eyes blown so wide Bucky could drown in them; the clink of teeth on metal....

Bucky hisses as he comes, teeth clenched, neck taut. He slumps in his chair, eyes closed to the mess he’s made, and counts the days since he last saw Tony.

Twelve.

****

Bucky’s fist sinks into the punching bag. He’s been hitting the gym a lot, recently. Their encounter workshop replays over and over, and Bucky analyses every angle, reviewing every word, every action, wondering which one had been the wrong one.

Or maybe it had been the kiss afterwards, when they’d been testing the arm. Bucky hadn’t been thinking, high on elation and endorphins, his cheeks aching from how widely he’d been smiling. He’d grabbed Tony and kissed him deep. Would have gone further if the Avengers hadn’t gotten an alert. He still remembers how Tony had looked, a little dazed with swollen lips and a flush to his cheeks. Maybe that had been it. Maybe he had been supposed to wait for Tony to make the first move. He’d been too greedy. Assets weren’t supposed to want things.

He’d. Screwed. It. Up. Because it’s been six- — _Whump_ — teen — _whump_ — days — _WHUMP_ — and citing ‘projects’ only lasts — _whump_ — so long, because Tony always had the time before — _whump_ — Bucky had always been allowed in _the fucking workshop_ — _WHUMP_ — but now whenever he went down it was always _dark_ —

“You okay there, Buck?”

Bucky whirls only to see Steve, hands in his pockets, looking bemused. Bucky runs a hand though his damp hair and tries to keep his cool. He’d thought Steve was out running. Steve always ran at this time. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Couldn’t find you when I went to your floor.”

Bucky tries not to grit his teeth. “Yeah. I just, uh....” He guestures vaguely at the bag. Steve’s smile is almost blinding.

“Great! Wanna go a few rounds on the mat?”

Bucky carefully doesn’t grimace. “Sure, Stevie.”

“Let’s see if you can beat me this time,” Steve teases. Bucky manages to force a small smile. Part of him wants, so very badly.

”Punk.”

He lets Steve make the first move. They fall into a now familiar pace. Bucky’s only half focussed on the fight as he wonders if this is how it was before the train. Steve always looking for him, following him around. Or no, he realises with a suddenly clarity as he ducks a punch. Back then, it had always been _Bucky_ following _Steve_. His next swing is just a little too hard, and the kick he follows it up with is a little too pointed.

Steve evades and then is up in Bucky’s face with a punch of his own. Bucky blocks, and throws himself to the side, scowling.

“Guess I just know all your tricks.” Steve grins, breathing hard from the exertion. The other part of him hates.

“Keep going?” Steve asks. Bucky nods. He’s going to land that punk on his ass or die trying.

They start up again, both skilful, but Steve clearly has the advantage.

“C’mon Buck! It’s like you’re not even trying.”

Bucky grits his teeth and tries not to snap.

”What’s the matter?” Steve taunts. “Getting slow in your old age?”

Bucky grunts, ducking another hit and tries to knock Steve’s legs out from under him.

”Saw that one coming,” Steve laughs.

Bucky tries a body slam. “That one too!”

Bucky switches to a fast, lightning exchange that Steve counters with ease, face alight with a wide grin.

“I could do this all day.”

Dumpster alley — _I could do this all day._

Helicarrier — _I could do this all day_.

Frozen bunker in Siberia — _I could do this all day_.

The rage comes from nowhere. _I could kill you._

He can see the hit coming. Can counter it. Can lay Steve’s ass flat on the ground. His hand trembles, his feet twitch and all he can think is _Steve wouldn’t know_ these _tricks_.

He could have it done in a moment.

Bucky takes the hit.

****

”Dude, what happened to you?”

Wilson is staring at the shiner Bucky’s sporting, juice forgotten.

”Sparring accident,” Bucky grunts from his position by the fridge. The morning sun filters through the wide windows — and no matter how much Tony and Natasha have assured him they were bullet proof, he still keeps an eye on them, always putting something between him and them — and Wilson’s just come back in from his run. Bucky bites back the urge to ask why he hadn’t taken Steve with him.

”Looks nasty.”

”’S fine,” he says through a mouthful of yoghurt. “‘V’e had worse.”

Wilson shakes his head. “You superhero types have no concept of pain, do you?”

“I’m not a superhero.” The words are sharper than he intends and lead to an awkward silence.

Wilson clears his throat. “So how’s the new arm?”

”Fine.” No, that was a disservice. “Great.”

“I don’t know the man, but I know his reputation. Gotta admit, he’s a genius at tech. It was good of him to agree to make you one.”

Bucky squeezes his yoghurt. “W-what?”

Sam cocks his head and fold his arms across his chest. “Yeah. Steve told me he’d asked Stark to fit you with a new arm. Cause your old one used to hurt.”

Bucky’s stomach does this vicious tug.

“Oh.” He sounds distant, even to his ears.

”Steve didn’t tell you?”

Bucky looks at Sam and wonders if he’s going to be sick.

“Hey, you okay man? You’re looking a little peaky.”

“M’fine,” Bucky mumbles. “I gotta go.” He almost staggers out the room.

Steve. It’s always fucking _Steve_.

It’s too easy to find him. He’s in the common area, lounging on the sofa, chatting with Natalia and Bruce. He laughs at something Bruce has said.

Bucky strides up, taking everything in; the coffee cups on the table, the sketch pad resting on Steve’s knee, the civvies, the muted tv, the stack of notes on the side, the position of the weights; he sees Natalia notice first; the widening of her eyes, the tensing of her body, the parting of her lips to warn Steve, but he won’t let her, he’s always been better than her — _he’d taught her almost everything she knows_ — and so he makes just enough noise to catch their attention and while Bruce jumps, Steve beams and says, “Hey Bucky! What’s up?”

And Bucky punches him in the goddamn face.

****

Later, when Steve comes after him, Bucky blames it on his HYDRA programming. After assuring Steve that he’s fine, it was just a blip, no problems here, he closes the door after him and locks it. He looks down at his arm. All of a sudden he’s clawing at the join, fumbling for those tiny clasps until the arm falls to the carpet by his feet. He stands there looking at it for a long moment, and the picks it up and hurls it across the room.

He slams his head back against the wall. “Fuckin’ idiot,” he tells himself. “You’re such a _fucking idiot_.”

****

Natasha keep a close eye on him after that. He guesses he deserves it.

****

“What’cha doing?”

Bucky throws the knife without even thinking, and Wanda barely manages to catch it in time, her red mist holding it not an inch from her pale face.

“Sorry,” she says carefully. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Bucky sets his jaw and nods. The knife lowers into her hand and she offers it back to him. He takes it and tucks it back into his clothes without touching her.

“Watching the madman at work?” Wanda tries again.

“He’s not mad,” Bucky says harshly.

Wanda shrugs. “Genius, madman. They both try to achieve the impossible, no matter who they have to sacrifice.” Her eyes turn dark, and they both look out over the test site as Tony tries out a new gauntlet.

Bucky doesn’t trust himself to reply.

“Steve says we’re alike, you know,” Wanda says eventually. “We both escaped HYDRA. Both have done things that we regret.”

It’s only the knowledge that Tony is below that keeps Bucky from doing anything rash.

“We’re nothing alike,” he growls. The fear as she looks at him is satisfying. He knows he’s putting on the Soldier right now, and relishes it. He gives her one last glare and storms out.

Natalia is waiting around the corner.

“Little harsh,” she says mildly.

”She doesn't get to say that.”

“She’s a child.”

”So what?”

”She’s lonely. She’s trying to fit in.”

“She can go and fit in with someone else. And tell Steve to stop getting involved.” He strides off, but she calls out after him.

“Tell him yourself.”

****

Bucky’s taken to hanging out on the roof of the tower. His legs dangle over the edge, the sheer drop at once terrifying and thrilling. He can see the stars. It’s cold, and he amuses himself for a while blowing out his breath, watching it disappate into the air.

Below, the New York night life streams, flashing signs and blaring horns. He loves it. He knows Tony has far too many cars in his garage. Sleek and shiny and sexy, and he’d been hoping to ask if he could catch a ride in one. Thought that maybe, because they’d been getting closer....

He exhales, leaning forward to watch the flow of headlights. Makes sure the fingers of his metal hand are locked tight on the edge of the roof. Seems every time Bucky walks into the room, Tony walks out of it. And that’s on the rare occasions Tony actually leaves the workshop. Most of the time he’s holed up in there, windows blacked out, working on lord knows what and no matter how many times Bucky asks, JARVIS refuses to let him in.

 _You killed the man’s parents,_ he reminds himself. _He’s allowed to hate you_. Hell, their little scene had probably been what set Tony off in the first place. Bucky has to swallow hard against the lump in his throat that rises when he wonders if he was the only one who enjoyed what they’d done. Maybe he’d imagined Tony’s enthusiasm. Maybe Tony had just been going along with it because Bucky was the Winter Soldier and could kill him in a heartbeat — not that he would. He’d never willingly hurt Tony, but Tony didn’t know that.

He’s dragged from his thoughts by the sound of boots on the gravel behind him. He closes his eyes. He knows that tread.

”Cold up here,” Steve says. “Don’t you wanna come in?”

”It’s nice,” Bucky replies, trying not to sound too irritated at the interruption. “Helps me think.”

”You’re a bit close to the edge, there. You sure you don’t wanna back up a bit?”

Bucky sighs, but shuffles back until he’s fully on the roof. He tenses as Steve sits down beside him. “So what you thinking about?”

Bucky shrugs. “Nothing much.”

”Any new memories?” Bucky grits his teeth at his hopeful tone.

“No.”

”They’ll be back soon,” Steve says, as he always does. He nudges him with his shoulder. “You’ll be remembering everything in no time. Right?”

Bucky closes his eyes. “Sure, Steve. Just like old times.”

Steve grins. “Come on inside. I’ll order a pizza. Pepperoni with jalapeños. You love jalapeños.”

 _No I don’t,_ Bucky thinks. But maybe he did. Maybe that’s another thing that Steve knows about the real him that fake Bucky doesn’t. So he keeps his thoughts to himself and follows Steve inside for pepperoni and jalapeño pizza. Maybe he’ll like them this time.

(He doesn’t.)

****

He takes to hiding in the garden when Steve wants to do yet another _do-you-remember_ marathon. He finds a small flower bed out of the way that has a few weeds growing. He pulls them out, straightens up the flowers, and realises he’s enjoyed it.

Next time he’s out, he picks up some small gardening tools, ignoring Steve’s questions. He keeps his gardening excursions a secret, using every stealth trick he has to avoid cameras and people. This is his time and he refuses to let anyone else take it from him. As he gardens, he rambles about anything that comes to mind; Steve, Natashia, Clint, Wanda, food he’s tried, books he’s read, shows he’s watched, the latest news.

The flowers don’t mind that he does it all in Russian.

****

It’s a nightmare of Steve that wakes him. Steve staring at him, holding up the head of Howard Stark. “ _Do you remember, Bucky? Do you remember?_ ”

He takes to the kitchen, always abandoned at this time of night, and sits in the dark, glass of water in front of him. The minutes pass slowly, and every second that ticks by makes him acutely aware of who’s missing. He’d gotten used to the company and appalling Russian accent. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there when the elevator pings and someone’s coming down the hall. He immediately knows who it is.

Tony doesn’t notice him in the shadows, focussed on his coffee and hunting down something to eat. Bucky’s struck by how similar their first 2 AM meeting was. He devours Tony with his eyes, lingering on the way his hair is standing on end like he’s been running his hands through it, greedily taking in the soot smeared all over his face. He’s wearing his tank top again, and Bucky swallows hard at the way it clings to him, and tamps down on the urge to trace every definition with his tongue. Tony turns around and swears violently, almost dropping his blueberries.

“Jesus!” he snaps. “Would it kill you to make some noise?”

Bucky makes a sharp inhalation. Tony suddenly look guilty.

“Sorry,” he grumbles. “You startled me.” One finger moves to tap on the bowl but quickly still.

“S’okay,” Bucky says eventually. “It was my fault.”

Tony looks torn. He stares, eyes wide with emotions Bucky can’t quite identify. Then he strides out without another word.

****

It’s okay, Bucky rationalises on the twenty-fourth day. Flings are a thing. One night stands. Hell, Bucky’d had them often enough before the war. He thinks.

So he gets on with it. Doesn’t look for Tony, doesn’t ask after Tony, doesn’t think about Tony, ignores Tony on the rare occasions they’re in the same room because it was just one time, and what had he even been thinking anyways; it’s not like getting it on with your parents’ killer was ever going to be a regular thing. He hangs out with Steve and Wilson and Clint and Natalia — Clint is still a shit, but he makes Bucky laugh sometimes, but Wilson is just a pain in the ass — goes to the gym more, spars with Steve more. Lets Steve win every bout. And sometimes, late at night when the distractions stop, he wonders who Bucky was, and if there’s really any of him left.

And then comes the day Steve bounds up to him at breakfast.

”Guess what, Bucky!” Steve beams. “You’ve been cleared for the big missions now!”

Cereal drips from Bucky’s spoon. Ice crawls through his veins. He feels like he’s been dipped back in cryo.

”That’s great, Stevie.” His voice cracks a little, and his smile is brittle, but Steve is grinning anyway. “Can’t wait.”

“Natasha's found another HYDRA base so we’ll be clearing that out ASAP. If the Accords agree.” Steve makes a face. “You’ll be coming with us? Nothing will happen,” he hurries on when Bucky can’t make his voice work. “We’re pretty sure it’s empty, it’s mostly just recon. And I’ll be watching your six, Bucky. You know I always do.”

A nod. A smile. Don’t scream. “Til the end of the line,” he forces out.

Steve beams. “Til the end of the line.”

****

That night, every time Bucky closes his eyes he’s falling from that train. He gives up and cleans his guns, instead.

Over and over and over.

****

The base is, as promised, deserted. Bucky follows Steve’s orders, slots in with the team as though he’s been designed for it. Steve’s thrilled, and Bucky can’t tell him it’s because he has. Even the Winter Soldier went on team missions.

”What’s the status outside, Falcon?”

”A whole lotta nothing, Cap. Real boring.”

“Boring is good,” the Witch argues, and just the sound of her voice makes Bucky tense up.

“Still boring though,” Hawkeye joins in. “Give me a good fight any day.”

Tony has beggared off this mission, claiming board meetings — not that that had ever stopped him before, but apparently citing Ms Potts was enough to have Steve nodding in understanding — so Falcon is doing external recon with Hawkeye, while Captain America, Scarlet Witch and Bucky take inside. (Natalia had something else to do, but she’d been sure to give Bucky a look before they’d left, and he knew Hawkeye was watching him.)

“You doing okay, Buck?” Steve asks quietly.

“Just dandy,” Bucky replies, keeping his gun up.

”Is any of this familiar?” The Witch asks and Bucky has to clench his teeth.

“Wanda,” Steve snaps. “Tact.”

The girl shrugs. “Sorry. I was just wondering. It would make things easier.” Her hands are up in a defensive guesture, and Bucky’s trigger finger twitches.

“We have the plans,” Captain America is saying.

”Sometimes things aren’t put on plans.”

”Then we’ll figure it out as we go.” And Captain America’s tone makes it clear that the discussion is over. The Witch shrugs again, and Bucky keeps his silence.

They turn a corner in tight formation, Bucky backing up the Shield, the Witch behind them both, a faint red mist curling around her fingers. Bucky ignores it, as he’s been trained to ignore many things.

There’s a burst of static and then Tony’s voice is coming over the comms.

“Uh, Cap? Rogers? Stop me if I’m wrong, but are you in there with Wanda and Old Frosty?”

”Tony? What are you...? And don’t call him that.”

“Just answer the question, Cap.”

”Yes. Not that it’s any of your concern, seeing you aren’t an active member of this mission.”

They’re still moving, Captain America keeping his voice low, the Witch rolling her eyes. Bucky keeps his mind on the mission.  _Clear the base. Eliminate hostiles._ He has no place to concern himself with Iron Man unless otherwise notified.

“Son of a bitch!”

”Language!” Hawkeye chimes in immediately.

“Rogers, are you out of your mind? What the hell were you thinking —?”

”Not now, Tony,” Captain America says firmly. “We’re on a mission. If you have any complaints we can discuss them when we get back to the Tower. For now, get out of our comms. You’re compromising the mission.”

”You bet your ass I have complaints —”

Captain America gives the signal to switch channels and Iron Man’s voice is abruptly cut off.

”What’s his problem?” Falcon asks.

”No idea,” Captain America says.

”Changing channels won’t keep him away for long. It’s not like he can’t hack into our feed,” the Witch warms, her voice tight with disapproval. “That man is far too powerful.”

”It will if he knows what’s good for him,” Captain America says, and Bucky registers that as a potential threat; a threat to Iron Man, and the threat of Iron Man, and Bucky places both of those pieces of information in his mind for when the fallout happens and the orders are given. For now, he takes up his duty and strides up to the door ahead.

”Bucky!” Captain America hisses. “What are you doing?”

Bucky opens the door in an instant, flat against the wall, waiting a beat for any bullets. Then he’s inside on the prowl for hostiles, gun steady.

”Clear,” he calls.

“Jesus, Buck,” Captain America says. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry.”

_Damage to the Assest results in poor functioning which leads to less than optimal results. New parameters: Avoid unnecessary risks._

In the centre of the room, is Bucky’s Chair.

“Was this it?” The Witch is inspecting it, drawing her fingers over it curiously. Her red-mist fingers that can crawl inside your brain on his Chair, and sweat breaks out on his back and he can’t drag in enough air.

”This is what they used?” Bucky can’t move, eyes fixed on the device.

”Yes.” His voice is rough.

”It looks horrifying.” Her voice is soft. “I’m so sorry.”

A hand lands on his shoulder and he almost breaks it on reflex.

“Let’s keep moving,” Captain America says quietly. Bucky can only nod.

 ****

Iron Man is waiting for them. They’ve barely gotten their feet on the ground when Iron Man is storming towards them in a business suit that Bucky refuses to let himself stare at — _Stark has nothing to do with you unless ordered otherwise_ —whipping his sunglasses off to reveal brown eyes blazing with fury.

“What the hell were you thinking, Rogers?”

Black Widow lurks behind him, her sharp eyes watching everything, and Bucky keeps her in his vision even as he watches the scene unfold. He registers the Witch’s silent outrage on Captain America’s behalf, notes how Captain America stiffens, back straight, chin up, and the Soldier discretely shifts his weight, ready for an incident. Falcon hangs to the back, but Bucky should be able to reach him if necessary. Hawkeye stands off to the side in line with Widow. Bucky does a quick mental assessment of how many arrows he has and determines to take him out first.

”Are you okay?” The words are still a demand, but softer, without the rage that Captain America has drawn. Bucky blinks and finds himself looking down into Tony’s eyes, full of concern.

”Frosty Freeze?” Tony prompts. Then, slightly strangled, “Report?”

“HYDRA base cleared. Data retrieved. Mission success. Zero fatalities.”

There’s a harsh draw in of breath beside him.

”Shit, Buck. _No_.”

“ _You took him into a HYDRA base with a mind-controlling witch_ ,” Tony hisses. “What did you _think_ was going to happen?”

“Buck-!”

“Maybe we let Tony handle this one, Cap.” Falcon’s calm voice cuts him off. “He seems to have it covered.”

Tony visibly seems to brace himself. Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off him for an instant.

“Status report.”

”No damage. Fully operational.”

“Where are you?”

”Stark Tower,” he answers immediately.

”And who are you?” Tony presses.

“The —” He stumbles over his next words. He is the Asset. The Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA. But Tony is not HYDRA. Tony hates HYDRA. HYDRA is Tony’s enemy. And he is...he is not.

”I....” He tries again. His hand clenches uselessly at his side. Captain America is a ball of tension beside him. He wants to attack, wants to make him _go away_ , but it’s _Steve_ , and he doesn’t hit _Steve_ , he _saves_ him.

The threat analysis is too high. He’s surrounded by hostiles, but they’re not hostiles, they’re allies and the Assest must not harm allies and Tony is looking at him, Tony with his dark eyes that see everything, with his sharp mind that _understands_ everything, with his quick tongue that says everything, that says everything _right_ , and he grabs ahold of that because Tony is...Tony is....

”I don’t know.” The words come out in a rushed gasp. He braces himself for the punishment, for the Chair, for the _recalibration_ —

There’s a wounded sound from beside him. “Bu—”

“Cap, for the love of god, _shut up_ ,” Tony grits out, eyes never moving from his. “Are you hungry?”

The abrupt change of topic is confusing but he answers anyways. “Sustenance is not required at this time.”

”Let’s eat anyways. How do you feel about pizza?”

”The Asset has no feelings.”

”But Bucky Barnes does.”

And Bucky’s falling into those deep, dark eyes that see him, that keep him safe, and he collapses.

“Bucky!” Steve is as his side in a flash, propping him up as Bucky trembles. He has no strength in his legs. He only just realises he’s sweating.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. _Sorry I screwed up, sorry I wanted, sorry I was greedy, sorry, sorry, sorry._ “I’m sorry.”

”It’s fine, Buck. It was my fault. I should have known better.” Steve is talking and Bucky just wants to tell him to _shut the fuck up_ but he can’t get his mouth to work. All that comes out is “I’m sorry.” . He just wants Tony.

But by the time he’s gotten his feet under him, Steve’s helping him to his room, and Tony’s gone.

****

Bucky jerks awake, heart pounding. Cold sweat prickles his skin. He can still feel the phantom pressure of the Chair gripping his head, the sticky leather beneath his arms, the plastic mouth guard.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky’s up and against the wall, the knife he keeps under his pillow in his hand, actually _hissing_ before he realises what’s happening.

”It is 3:24 am. You are in Stark Tower, and you are safe.”

The words mean nothing, and all he feels is panic at the sound of a disembodied voice.

”Sergeant?”

“Sir?” He snaps on instinct.

“I repeat: it is 3:27 AM. You are in Stark Tower, and you are safe.”

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths and work his tongue and flex his jaw to make sure there’s nothing in there before he can answer.

”Right. Sorry, JARVIS.”

”You have nothing to apologise for, Sergeant,” JARVIS replies smoothly. Bucky can’t help the bitter laugh as he sinks onto the edge of the bed.

”You and I both know that’s not true.”

JARVIS remains silent.

Bucky wipes his sweaty hair off his forehead. Fuck, this is not what he needed right now.

“May I call anyone for you, Sergeant Barnes?”

A vision of Steve rushing in, all concern and — “No!” The word comes out sharper than he intends. He tries to soften his tone. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

”With all due respect, Sergeant, you look far from ‘fine’. Bucky snorts at that.

”Yeah, well.” He tosses the knife back onto the bed, and pulls his damp hair away from his face.

”Gonna shower,” he mutters, not really sure why he says it.

“Of course. Would you like me to monitor you for any further distress while you do?”

“Wha-? No! Don’t do that!”

”As you wish. Sir always prefers close monitoring after a nightmare. I assumed you may want the same precautions.”

“Tony has nightmares?” He clings to that piece of information with the same desperation he clings to _HYDRA’s not here._

There’s a pause, and Bucky’s not stupid. He knows JARVIS let that slip intentionally.

”Sir has had a...colourful life. It has left its mark, in more way than one.”

The reactor. The nightmares. The way he stays up for days on end. The suits. The literal armour. The sunglasses. The biting wit. The constant talking. The lines on his face. The tapping of his fingers.

Bucky knows. He’s seen, watched, noted, catalogued. He _knows_.

”Why is he avoiding me?” The question sits in the stillness of the early morning air.

”I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Sir that yourself.” JARVIS sounds almost gentle. “If there’s anything else I can do, Sergeant?”

”No, thanks.”

“Then I’ll leave you to your shower. I would suggest however, that you switch to English should you decide to leave your room. Others may find it unnerving.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “ _Shit_.” JARVIS makes no comment. Bucky shoves aside the little voice that says _last time it was Tony_ and summons the energy to say, “Thanks, JARVIS.” He means it.

“Not at all, Sergeant.”

****

It’s closer to 5 by the time he feels put together enough to leave his room. He makes his way to the kitchen. Clint’s there making omelettes, juggling eggs one-handed, whistling cheerfully. Bucky takes a seat at the breakfast bar, not quite ready to interact yet. The pile of omelettes grows and Bucky is just beginning to wonder if Clint is planning on feeding a small army somewhere when he turns the gas off and turns around.

”Jesus!” Clint almost drops the omelettes, a knife suddenly in his hand. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Bucky blinks. “Sorry.” He hadn’t realised he’d been so quiet. Clint frowns at him.

”You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Clint doesn’t look convinced but sits opposite him anyways. He nudges the plate in Bucky’s direction.

“Omelette?”

”Thanks.”

“So what’s got you up?” Clint asks, breaking off a bite with his fingers and stuffing it into his mouth. Bucky just looks at him.

“Right. Yeah. Get that a lot too.”

Bucky’s surprise must show because Clint nods.

”Tasha and I. We’ve both got a lot of red in our ledgers. Sometimes it’s hard to compartmentalise.” He shrugs. “Anyone ever tell you ‘bout the time I was brainwashed by Loki?”

Bucky stops toying with his fork. “No.” “He used some magic voodoo crap. Killed...Killed a lot of good agents while I was under his control.” Clint gives a strained smile. “Still can’t stand the colour blue.”

Bucky pokes at the small pile of omelettes. “How....How did you...?”

“You don’t really,” Clint tells him quietly. “You just try to accept it. It’s like...it’s you who does it, but at the same time, not really? Because it’s you without the morals and freedom to make informed decisions.”

”Informed decisions?”

Clint shrugs. “That’s what Phil says.”

”Agent Phil Coulson?”

Clint snorts. “Yeah. But I don’t call him ‘agent’ unless we’re on the field. Or in bed.”

Bucky smirks. “Is that how it is?”

“Damn straight that’s how it is.” Clint almost _preens_ , and Bucky has to laugh.

”Who’s laughing at this ungodly hour? I’ll change all your passwords. Oh.”

Tony’s stumbled into the kitchen, hair sticking up wildly, dark shadows under his eyes. Bucky stiffens, and keeps his gaze on the plate.

”Looking good, hot stuff,” Clint calls.

“Of course I am, I’m me.” The reply seems automatic, and from under the shadow of his hair, Bucky can’t help but track Tony as he makes his way to the coffee maker.

”Come to daddy,” he’s crooning at it, making Clint gag loudly, but Bucky can see there’s tension in his neck and his fingers are doing their tapping on his pants leg.

“So what’s cooking downstairs?” Clint asks.

”Science,” Tony answers with a distracted smirk.

”What about my arrows? You said you’d designed some new ones.”

”Oh, yeah; they’re done. Swing by later and I’ll show them to you.”

”Sweet!” “

Bucky slowly tightens his grip on his fork.

The coffee machine whirs as it pours the drink into Tony’s cup.

”You should eat something real,” Natasha says as she enters, dressed for a jog. Tony cradles the coffee to himself protectively.

”Coffee is real,” he says in indignation.

“So is food,” Natasha tells him, snagging a bite of Clint’s omelette. “Try it sometime.”

Grumbling, Tony escapes. He doesn’t give Bucky a second look. Clint swallows his last bite and follows. Natasha turns to Bucky.

”Want to join me?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No thanks.”

Natasha shrugs. “Maybe next time.”

Then she’s gone, too. Alone in the kitchen, Bucky takes a deep breath and opens his hand. The fork is mangled beyond repair. He lets it drop to the counter and buries his head in his hands.

“Was that Clint?”

Wanda walks in and Bucky walks straight out.

****

Steve corners him later that morning.

”I’m so sorry, Bucky,” he says, eyes soulful and blue. “I should have known better.”

”It’s fine.” He tries to shrug it off. “I’m okay.”

”Are you sure? You looked pretty bad last night.”

”Yeah, I’m good. Slept it off, you know?” A quick smile. “Should be fine for next time.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t look appeased. “I just....You're important to me, Buck. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Bucky stares. Hopes the hysteria isn’t showing on his face.

”Yeah,” he says lamely. Steve split his team for Bucky. Almost killed a teammate for Bucky. Went Rogue for Bucky.

Bucky can’t even remember Steve’s favourite meal.

”Yeah.”

****

There’s another mission, and this time Wanda isn’t a part of the team. Iron Man isn’t either. Steve’s constant watch on Bucky begins to grate to the point that he’s actually relived to have to confront some HYDRA operatives.

The man he’s facing recognises him. Just before he shoot himself in the head he grins viciously and rasps, “Hail HYDRA.” Then Bucky’s splattered with brain matter and blood and the words echo around his skull. He takes a deep breath and makes his report.

“Hostile eliminated.”

”Thanks Buck,” comes the reply. “We’re done here, too. Meet us at the front and we’ll all go for a bite to eat.”

”Might want to shower first,” Bucky says without thinking and Steve laughs.

“Sure thing.”

****

Bucky’s been on four missions when Wilson decides to go for a heart to heart.

“Hey, Barnes. How’s it going?”

Bucky blinks suspiciously at him. He’s too tired for this shit. Nightmares have him up every night, nightmares of Steve and Tony and Zola, and during the day it takes more effort to remember he’s not with HYDRA than it should.

“What do you care?” He asks.

”Ouch.” But Wilson doesn’t seem offended. He leans against the wall opposite where Bucky’s sitting in an armchair, making his way through a Game of Thrones novel.

”Just thought I’d see how you were doing,” Wilson says. “Now you’re going on missions and all.”

“I’m fine.”

”Yeah? How are the flashbacks?” Bucky stills. “It’s pretty common for flashbacks to occur after being put into similar circumstances. Happens to all of us.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky says again, forcefully this time. Wilson holds up his hands.

“Okay, dude. Was just asking.”

“Steve put you up to this.” As soon as he says it, Bucky knows it’s true.

“Hey, he’s just worried about his friend.”

Bucky hisses. “I don’t need Steve meddling. I’m capable of looking after myself —”

He cuts himself off at the sound of someone approaching. The familiar staccato of Tony’s speech announce his presence. Bucky’s heart gives a leap, tattooing against his chest so loud he’s sure the room can hear it. He has so many things he wants to say, needs to ask, and he half rises out of his chair, determined to corner the man and fucking _talk_.

Then Tony strolls in, dressed in a suit that makes Bucky’s mouth dry and his knees weak with want. _Move, you idiot_ , he orders himself.

“Sure thing,” Tony’s saying into his earpiece. “I’ll drop that off today.” He spares a quick smile for Wilson. Picks up an apple and bites into it loudly. His gaze seems to skitter over Bucky and Bucky can’t breathe. _MOVE, BARNES!_

“What? No, of course I’m not eating. That would be highly rude. Not to mention disrespectful.” Another loud bite. Bucky wants to laugh, wants to catch Tony’s eye, but it’s Wilson who gets the wink and then Tony’s striding out again, and all Bucky can think is _Why?_

“That man is a Grade-A asshole,” Wilson comments aloud. “I think I like him.”

 _You fucking coward_.

Bucky sinks back into his chair and tries not to hate Wilson for getting Tony’s attention. He fails miserably.

“You know, you could always just talk to Steve. Just like you could talk to Tony.” Bucky bares his teeth. Wilson shrugs. “Just saying.”

Bucky flips him off.

****

Later, Bucky goes and stands outside Tony’s workshop. It’s blacked out as it often is these days. He broods there for hours, alone in the shadows. Then he takes a deep breath.

“Okay.” He tells Tony. “Okay.”

****

It’s been a while since Bucky’s been in his garden. He half heartedly pulls at some weeds, starts one-sided conversations he loses track of. He’s somewhere in the middle of a confused scentence about Tony and fish and the plot of the latest movie he’s seen, when he gives up.

He leaves his trowel in the dirt and walks away.

****

Bucky forces his shaking arms to support his weight as he sits up. Images of HYDRA Tony spin in his mind, along with Steve destroying everything (“ _But I did it for you, Buck. For the old times. Remember?”_ ) and Zola hovering above it all, turning Bucky into metal, laughing as Bucky tries to claw himself apart in horror. The bedsheets are a damp, sweaty mess about his legs. He hopes he hasn’t ripped them again.

“If I may, Sergeant. Perhaps talking to someone about these nightmares may help.”

Bucky shakes his head, his hair tickling his cheeks. “Can’t.”

”I am happy to provide you with the number of Sir’s therapist. I can assure you she is both discrete and competent —“

”No, it’s fine. I’ll just grab a shower. They’ll....” Bucky takes a breath. “They’ll fade eventually.”

“Of course, Sergeant.”

In the shower Bucky turns it as cold as it can go. As he stands underneath the spray, he tries to shake the last of the nightmare.

_Your work is a gift to mankind._

_You are to be the new fist of HYDRA._

_Wipe him._

Bucky shudders and then retches, vomit splattering to the ceramic shower floor. He braces himself against the wall as he heaves.

“I’m okay,” he mumbles as the water washes the evidence down the drain.

“I’m okay.”

****

Another mission — Steve’s got them out on a lot these days — and they’ve hit the jackpot as far as intel is concerned. Orders are to try to bring in some agents for questioning, but the woman Bucky’s chasing down doesn’t look like she’s about to quit. She hits a dead end and Bucky advances.

“Longing!” The woman spits in desperation. “Rusted!”

And Bucky just...stops. They stare at each other.

“Sev-Seventeen.”

Bucky doesn’t move.

“Daybreak.” Her voice is stronger. She’s gaining confidence.

It’s odd, a part of him notes from very far away. The triggers have been removed. They shouldn’t work. And he knows they’re not, not really. There’s no pain, no curling dread. And yet....

“Furnace!” She’s standing now, a grin painted on her face, almost vibrating with glee. Bucky can read her thoughts as though she was holding them up on flash cards. She was going to be honoured. She was the one to bring the Winter Soldier back into line. He watches the rise and fall of her chest. Imagines putting a bullet through it.

”Nine!” Looks into her eyes. Sees the manic greedy. The elation. Imagines the bullet going through her skull.

”Benign!” She’s almost shouting now, so close to the end. “Homecoming!”

“Bucky?” He knows that voice. It sounds as though it’s coming from the end of a tunnel. The HYDRA agent tenses, panic entering her tone.

“One!”

“Bucky?” Comes again, more insistent. Then Steve is barging into the room.

“Freight!” She shouts desperately.

He hears Steve’s bellow and closes his eyes.

Bucky lets himself fall.

****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of Chapter One from Tony’s POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So firstly, I’m sorry this took so long. Secondly, this grew again. I’m sorry! Tony’s POV was supposed to be the second half, but he insisted on it being longer, so. Their happy ending should happen next chapter (unless the reunion drags out longer than expected!).
> 
> So, here’s 6000 more words of pure angst.
> 
> Also a HUGE shoutout to my alpha/beta reader, without whom this would have been much more of a mess. You know who you are, and I love you.
> 
> _______
> 
> EDIT 9/11/18: I’M SORRY! I swear I haven’t forgotten this and I *am* working on it, just v e r y s l o w l y. Life’s had me busy and I’m currently in the middle of NaNo. I promise you’ll have the next chapter by mid-December, latest. Thank you so much for the kudos and comments. You guys are amazing! :-*

It’s Cap who points it out.

Tony’s running his mouth off to Bruce about angles and weight distribution and responsive design, because while Bruce may not be an engineer, he’s a scientist, and he can appreciate a work of genius better than most (that’s what Bucky’s new arm is; a work of genius, even if Tony does say so himself) when Cap pipes up from where he’s sitting in the corner with his book.

“You’re not his handler, you know.”

And Tony feels like Cap’s just lodged his shield right in his sternum, because he’s _seen_ those files, he’s seen what sort of people were handlers for the Winter Soldier, for Bucky, and yeah, so he may house the guy, and provide him with food, and yes, okay, make him an arm, but that’s just what he _does_ ; he’d do it for any of the Avengers, even Cap. He _does_ do it for Cap.

“I know that,” he replies when he can remember how to breathe.

“Good,” Cap says, casually flipping a page, Tony can see his knuckles are just a little too white, his back a little too straight.

 _You wanted me to make it,_ Tony doesn’t say. _You asked me to._

Instead he goes down to his workshop and brings up the files, the HYDRA files he’d watched over and over after trying to understand his parents’ death, the ones that he’d burned into his memories, and he watches them again.

He watches how those handlers train Bucky: the way they make him wait for permission, force him to follow orders, ingrain implicit obedience. Watches as he’s taught that his handlers are everything, that they provide everything he needs — food, shelter, weaponry —that insubordination towards them is not tolerated; watches as his behaviour is enforced, encouraged, punished, rewritten by pain, pain, pain, pain, until there is nothing left but blind obedience.

He thinks back to the way Bucky had kissed him, hesitant, nervous. Unsure. It had seemed endearing at the time, but now?

Now he wonders if it had been something else.

****

That night Tony dreams he’s standing over the Winter Soldier.

 _Report_ , he orders in a cold, clear voice.

_Ready to comply._

Then he’s back in Afghanistan and the Solider is holding him down, shoving his metal arm — Tony’s metal arm — into his chest and pulling out the arc reactor. The Soldier’s mask shifts as his lips part in a wide grin. _You had one last golden egg to give_. Tony stares in horror as the arc reactor morphs into a shield, a shield that grows to full size, his father’s shield, and then Bucky’s there, arm blown off by Tony’s blasters, hair limp about his face, and his bright blue eyes accusing as he glares at Tony. _I trusted you!_ He’s shouting. _And you used me! You’re just like HYDRA!_

Bucky’s bringing the shield down onto Tony’s head, and he throws up his arms to defend himself —

And suddenly he’s in the workshop again, with Bucky beneath him soft and pliant and dazed, his hands tight in Bucky’s hair, and Tony leans forward to whisper in his ear.

 _Hail HYDRA_.

****

“Sir,” JARVIS says over the screech of Tony’s powersaw. “Sergeant Barnes is outside. Shall I —?”

“Nope,” Tony replies without looking up from his work.

“Very well.” And JARVIS can take that disapproval and kick it, because he knows perfectly well why Tony’s doing this.

“Sergeant Barnes has gone,” JARVIS announces a few moments later.

“Great.” Tony blows away some dust.

JARVIS lasts approximately three seconds.

“Sir, I cannot approve of this course of action. It is detrimental to both yourself and Sergeant Barnes’ state of wellbeing.”

Tony switches the saw off and drops it on the bench.

“‘Detrimental’? Really? Little dramatic, don’t you think?” He strips off the gloves and tosses them down. DUM-E whizzes towards him with a green smoothie and he takes it. “Thanks bud.”

“Not really, Sir, no,” JARVIS says dryly. “You have sequestered yourself in your workshop since you started, and Sergeant Barnes’ sleeps cycles have been less restive.”

Tony falters. “Well. Maybe Rogers can help with that.”

“You and I both know that Captain Rogers is not helping the matter.” And really? The disapproval is back. Tony did not program this much disapproval into his AI.

“What is this? An interrogation? It’s just a bit of distance, JARVIS. Distance is good for perspective.”

“And who would you say is lacking perspective here, Sir?” JARVIS’ voice is as dry as the desert. Tony is not amused.

“I won’t have Bucky thinking he has some sort of...debt to me,” he says overly-loudly. “It’s fine. I’ll just step back a bit...I’m sure Cap will be happy to fill in the gap.”

“I wasn’t aware we were considering Captain Rogers as a stable variable.”

Tony looks at his glass. “Yeah, well. Just cause it didn’t work out for me, doesn’t mean Bucky has anything to worry about. Cap would do anything for the guy.” There’s the flash of a bright shield coming toward him, and Tony blinks hard. He shakes off the sudden chill and pulls up some new schematics, absently rubbing at the sudden ache in his chest. “The Two Musketeers will be back at it eventually.”

“If you say so, Sir.” JARVIS doesn’t believe him for a minute.

 ****

Bucky’s tenacious, Tony will give him that. It takes every one of Tony’s tricks to avoid him.

“Sorry, meeting,” he’ll say as he glides past him in the hallway, or “Gotta work, talk later!” while almost running out the room.

And when accosting Tony doesn’t work, Bucky will sit outside the workshop for hours, just waiting, and Tony’s reminded once again of his reputation as a sniper even before HYDRA.

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks as he lays his head against the cool worktop. Bucky’s outside again. A large part of Tony wants to let him in, wants to apologise for everything, wants to go back to how they were before. But he knows he can’t.

_You’re not his handler you know._

Except the longer he avoids him, the harder it gets to imagine facing him again.

****

  
It’s his fourth(?) day awake, and Tony’s swaying on his feet, trying to get the Spider-Man suit in front of him to focus when his stomach gives a loud growl. He’s starving, he realises, and the sudden exhaustion falls over him with the solidity of Mjolnir.  
“Food break,” he announces to no-one, dropping the torch on the bench and stumbling into the lift. He yawns widely and scrubs his face with his hands, giving his hair a sharp tug in effort to keep himself awake.

The kitchen is dark and deserted which means it’s the middle of the night, which is perfect. Tony makes a beeline for the coffee (blessed coffee, lovely coffee, mine, mine, mine) and rummages through the fridge for something to eat. There’s some pasta (mmm, pasta) but the blueberries are easier to reach so he grabs them along with his coffee (don’t judge) and turns to go, and almost drops them both.

The Winter Soldier is staring at him from the shadows.

“Jesus! Would it kill you to make some noise?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, like he’s been hurt, and Tony’s tired brain kickstarts into overdrive.

It’s not the Winter Soldier, it’s Bucky, and Bucky’s looking at him like Tony’s murdered _his_ parents, and nice one Tony, way to kick a man when he’s down.

Because it’s two in the goddamn morning and the only time Bucky sits in the kitchen at two in the goddamn morning is when he’s having nightmares and you _know_ that Tony, _you used to sit up with him._

So Tony shifts where he stands, trying not to let the guilt eat him alive and grumbles an excuse.

“Sorry. You startled me.”

Lame. So lame.

There’s a long pause, but then Bucky speaks.

“все нормально. Это я был виноват.”

Tony’s heart stops. Then it starts again at twice the speed, because shit, shit, shit, he was not prepared for this because Russian Bucky is an I-Need-Help Bucky and this Bucky in front of him is all dark broody glaring, and sad eyes, and downturned lips and is screaming ‘Help Me’, and Tony should do it, should pull him back from the darkness because you’ve _been_ there, you _know_ , he needs _help_ , Goddammit Stark, _you’ve done it plenty of times before_. But that was _before_ before, before the Sex In the Workshop, before the brainwashed prisoner of war had _submitted_ himself to Tony the way he’d _submitted_ himself in those files that Tony had seen and then tried to forget he’d seen, although admittedly with a lot less violence.

So Tony books it, back down to the workshop where the coffee barely makes it to a flat surface and the blueberries tumble across the floor, and Tony sinks to the ground, trying to regulate his breathing.

“Sir.” JARVIS sounds alarmed and that was another thing Tony screwed up; he was supposed to be _taking care_ of himself. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” He wheezes, trying to dislodge the shield in his chest so he can _breathe_. “Minor asthma. Too much running.”

“Sir, you don’t _have_ asthma.”

“Uh huh.” Tony closes his eyes and does as his therapist told him: trace a square, breathe at each corner. Trace a square, breathe at each corner. Hold for seven, and release.

Twenty minutes later he’s breathing easier and the shakes have mostly subsided. He takes a swig of cold coffee and grimaces.

“See? Minor asthma.”

JARVIS doesn’t deign to answer. Tony doesn’t blame him.

He has JARVIS scan the kitchen before he goes up after that.

****

  
Tony’s working on a new repulsar when Natasha knocks on the glass. “Come in,” he calls from around his screwdriver.

“I guess you’ve heard the news?” She arches a perfect brow.

“It wasn’t me,” Tony refutes immediately. “Ask JARVIS. I’ve been down here the whole time.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “About _Barnes_.”

Panic shoots up his spine, and he tries to cover it. “What? Oh.” He clears his throat. “What happened?”

“He’s been cleared for missions.”

Tony looks at her. “I know that. That was three months ago. Sort of failing at the ‘super’ part of super spy, there.”

But Natasha shakes her head and Tony feels his chest harden.

“HYDRA missions.”

The wrench drops out of his loose grip with a clatter. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“How?” Tony demands. Natasha shrugs.

“Steve was pushing it.”

Tony twitches. “ _Of course_ he was.”

“He just misses his friend, Tony,” Natasha says quietly.

“Yeah. Got that, thanks.”

_He’s my friend._

_So was I._

Tony rubs at his chest, _not_ thinking about cold caves in cold places, quickly turning it into the familiar tapping when he notices, before stopping that, too.

“What do you want to do?”

”What? Tony gives Natasha blank look, which she returns with a distinctly unimpressed stare of her own. (And what was with the amount of negativity going around these days? Cap should probably give a pep talk — or not.)

“I’m not blind, you know,” she says, and is she laughing at him? Because that sounded like laughter hiding in her words.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You and _Barnes_ —”

Tony folds like a wet paper bag.

“Yeah, okay, no. Not talking about this.” He picks up his blowtorch and turns it on. High.

“You should talk to him,” Nathasha call over the noise.

“What?” Tony yells back. “Can’t hear you.”

Natasha gives him yet another unimpressed glare (really, the woman’s made an art of it. She could rival Pepper.) but rolls her eyes and takes the hint.

Tony swears he hears a muttered “Idiots” as she leaves, but decides to rise above it.

“Keep an eye on him?” He asks when she reaches the door. He doesn’t like how vulnerable his voice sounds when he asks but she looks back, and lets him see the honesty in her eyes.

“Of course.”

****

Tony follows their progress anyways. Hacks into the quinjet to pinpoint their destination (a remote mountain base, abandoned), accesses the mission files (sweep and grab, intel only, no resistance expected), and wishes there were cameras he could patch into.

Pepper gives a delicate cough and looks at Tony sternly across the meeting table. He gives her a sheepish look and sinks lower into his chair, definitely not using the tablet as a shield to hide behind (and don’t think about shields) and taps through a few screens, casting half an eye over the system he’s debugging.

He could fly out. Go to meet them. Say his meeting ended early.

But that would be defeating the purpose of _distance_ , and honestly, seeing Cap with the shield still made him jittery.

Tony switches the tablet off with an audible click, and places it on his knee. Scoops it up again and turns it back on, ignoring Pepper’s questioning glare (and why is everyone glaring at him recently? Seriously.). Re-reads the mission files for the sixth time.

Then comes the text from Natasha.

_Change of plans. Got called away. Wanda’s taking my place. Clint has eyes._

He’s out the room in two seconds flat, stuffing his comm in his ear just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation.

“Is any of this familiar?” Wanda. Tony grits his teeth. The comm makes it sound like she’s right in his head.

 _Breathe_ , he reminds himself. _Breathe_.

“Wanda. Tact.” And that’s Rogers.

Breathe _better_.

“Sorry, I was just wondering,” Wanda’s saying. “It would make things easier.”

“We have the plans.”

“Sometimes things aren’t on the plans.”

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

Tony takes his chance. “Uh, Cap? Rogers? Stop me if I’m wrong, but are you in there with Wanda and Old Frosty?”

Roger splutters and Tony has to close his eyes until the rush of rage passes.

“Just answer the question, Cap,” he bites.

“Yes. Not that it’s any of your business seeing as you are not a member of this mission.”

“ _Son of a bitch!_ ”

“Language!” Clint reprimands, and Tony’s making his arrows pink glitter bombs for that.

“Rogers, are you out of your mind? What the hell were you thinking —?”

“Not now, Tony.” Tony grits his teeth. Like Tony’s some sort of _child_.

“We’re on a mission. If you have any complaints, we can discuss them when we get back to the Tower. For now, get out of our comms. You’re compromising the mission.”

“You bet your ass I have complaints. Rogers?”

Silence. Tony presses his lips into a tight line.

And Bucky hadn’t said a single word.

 ****

Back at the Tower, his rage simmers, unrelenting as Tony imagines all the ways this can go wrong. Remembers what Bucky looked like before, muzzled, with eyes that only showed ice or pain, Bucky who was unable to ask for anything, who used to wait for orders before doing anything, who couldn’t even crack a smile.

Tony hitches a breath as the thought of Bucky not smiling again hits him harder than Cap ever could.

Natasha glides up beside him. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

The jet finally lands, and when the team disembarks, Tony can see Bucky’s gone.

And he sees red.

“Rogers, what the hell were you thinking?” He strides forward, eating up the distance, letting his rage carry him through. Takes off his sunglasses.

But Cap stands tall, firm, immovable, shield firmly in place, and Tony can’t, alright? He _can’t_. So he turns to Bucky instead, Bucky who is safe, Bucky who needs his help, and looks up into those cold, empty eyes.

“Are you alright?”

The words are soft, gentle, and Tony tries not to wince at the amount of emotion in them, because _distance_ , but _stop it,_ he scolds himself. _Bucky needs you_.

“Frosty Freeze?” He tries again.

Cap shifts beside them and Tony controls his flinch. Natasha’s watching. She’ll step in.

He hopes.

Bucky’s looking at him without recognition, and Tony remembers the last time he saw that look and takes a shaky breath.

“Report?” The word almost sticks in his throat.

“HYDRA base cleared. Data retrieved. Mission success. Zero fatalities.”

Rogers goes white.

“Shit, Buck. _No_.”

“ _You took him into a HYDRA base with a mind-controlling witch._ ” Tony barely manages to contain himself, ignoring the way Wanda flinches at that. “What did you _think_ was going to happen?”

And the look on Cap’s face says that he hadn’t, he hadn’t been thinking, and Tony wants to groan, because he knows that Bucky is Cap’s friend, and Wanda is his baby bird, and in an ideal world everyone would get along and be happy, but this isn’t an ideal world, this is the real world with pain, and betrayal and ice.

“Buck-!”

“Maybe we let Tony handle this one, Cap.” Sam steps in, a hand on Rogers’ shoulder. “He seems to have it covered.”

Tony takes a moment to collect himself and then throws himself off the metaphorical cliff.

“Status report.”

“No damage. Fully operational.” The empty tone hurts just as much as he’d thought it would. Rogers looks like he can barely hold back his tears.

“Where are you?”

“Stark Tower.”

“And _who_ are you?”

“The —” Bucky cuts himself off, and Tony holds his breath. Bucky flounders, eyes darting about the hanger, hand clenching at his side.

 _Bucky_ , Tony tries to tell him without words. _You’re Bucky, and you like plums and milk and hate Chinese food and pepperonis, and you take your coffee black, no sugar, and you like to sit on the roof at night to help you think, and you’re such a geek, you love science and all things future and you used to sit in my workshop —_

“I don’t know.”

The words seem to be wrenched from him, and he’s braced, braced for....Tony skitters away from completing that thought.  
Rogers looks like he’s about to break, and Tony wants to yell at him, _I told you, I told you, why won’t you listen,_ but even the thought of it makes his palms sweat and his heart pound and his hands twitch.

“Bu—”

“Cap, for the love of God, _shut up_.” He can manage that. He can manage to tell Cap to shut up.

 _Small steps_ , his therapist reminds him.

“Are you hungry?” And really? That’s the best he can come up with? It seems to reach Bucky anyways because he actually frowns when he replies. A small frown, barely a furrow, really, but it’s a frown.

“Sustenance is not required at this time.”

 _Sustenance_. Tony ignores the fuck out of that.

“Let’s eat anyways. How do you feel about pizza?”

“The Asset has no feelings.”

And that comes out too fast, too readily, like he’s been telling himself that and _fuck’s sake Rogers, why didn’t you notice?_

“But Bucky Barnes does.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to Tony’s like he’s just revealed to him the secrets of the universe — _or a flying car,_ part of him whispers. — and Tony can see the recognition spark in his eyes.

He instinctively goes to catch him when he falls but Cap’s there first and the speed which he moves at sends Tony jumping back, hand covering his chest, the other held out uselessly in front of him, heart rabbiting out a panicked rhythm. But Rogers doesn’t even notice.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s saying, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

I am too, Tony wants to say. _I’m sorry for being useless, for being weak, for not being able to help when you need me to, I’m sorry for being scared,_ but “It’s fine, Buck,” Roger is saying, because Bucky’s not talking to Tony, of course he’s not. “It’s my fault. I should have known better.”

Tony turns on his heel, because Cap’s got this, and Tony’s not needed, and flees the sharp eyes of Clint and Natasha and Wilson down to his workshop.

“Lockdown, JARVIS,” he manages to gasp, head ringing with _Report_ and _The Asset_ and _I don’t know. I’m sorry_ is also there and Tony wants to scream.

He breathes alone as JARVIS send soothing music trickling through the speakers and blocks out the way Bucky had looked under him, soft and pliant and beautiful and submissive. Obedient. _Ready to comply._

 _хочу чувствовать себя хорошо_ , he’d said. _хотите, чтобы вы чувствовали себя хорошо._ And Tony had learned enough Russian to know what that meant. _Bucky had wanted him to feel good._

“JARVIS?” He calls, ignoring the way his voice cracks. “What am I doing?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” and JARVIS sounds sad.

Tony knocks his head back against the wall.

“How’s Bucky?” He asks.

“Sergeant Barnes is being escorted back to his quarters by Captain Rogers.”

“Keep an eye on him for me, would you?”

Of course, Sir.”

****

Natasha knocks but Tony ignores her and she takes the hint.

Rogers doesn’t.

“Tony,” he calls again. “I know you’re in there. Please, we need to talk.”

 _Please_. _Now_ we say please. _Now_ we need to talk.

“Working!” He shouts abruptly, carefully pouring into a mould.

“Please, Tony. It’s important.”

“He’s not going to leave, is he?” Tony asks aloud. He dumps his tools on the bench uses an already dirty rag to clean his hands. Takes a deep breath.

_Small steps._

Steps outside.

The door closes behind him because he may have let the man into his home but he’s not going to let him into his workshop, and Tony squares himself to face Rogers who is looking at him with his Serious Face (TM).

“What can I do for you Captain, Oh Captain?”

“I wanted to say thank you for helping with Bucky.”

And doesn’t that throw Tony for all of two seconds. And then the rage is surging back because how dare he, _how dare he_ , and Tony has to look down at the rag he’s still pretending to clean his fingers with before he can speak.

“Yeah. Well, anything for Barnes, right?”

But that seems to flay right past Rogers who asks, “How did you know to do that?”

“Do what?” Tony stalls, rubbing at a particularly stubborn piece of grease on his fingernail.

“Talk to him like that. Get through.”

Tony blows out a breath and flips the rag over his shoulder. “I didn’t, Rogers. I guessed. Hypothesised. Took a shot in the dark.” Did it before. “Just followed the patterns he was familiar with. Anyone could do it.”

Rogers nods at that, and Tony suddenly feels cold creep into his lungs. He knows that look.

“Thanks, Tony. I really appreciate it.”

“Maybe be more careful with the goods next time,” Tony can’t resist adding. “After everything you went through to get him, would be a shame to break him now.”

And there’s the thunderous scowl that Tony knows and loves.

“Bucky’s not broken. And he’s not goods, either.”

“Glad we agree. Well anyways,” he hurries on before Rogers can reply. “I’ve got work to do, so good talk.”

He’s back through the door in a moment.

He leans on the nearest workbench, hands splayed against the surface as he tries to stop the trembling. A whole conversation with Rogers and neither had resorted in violence.

He takes a deep breath.

 _Small steps_.

****

“Sir!”

“What?” He mumbles, trying to get back into the zone, but the exhaustion is crashing down on him. He checks the time and it takes a while for the digits to register and tell him that it’s almost half three in the morning.

“Sergeant Barnes is having a severe nightmare.”

“What?” Tony says again, blinking hard. Awareness trickles into his brain like sludge. “Oh. Oh, shit. JARVIS, visuals, no audio.”

A live-feed of Bucky’s room pops up in front of him, and Tony sees Bucky twisting wildly on the bed — and shit, were those tears?

“Wake him up,” he orders, half-panicked now. “JARVIS, wake him up!”

“I’m trying, Sir, but Sergeant Barnes is non-responsive.”

“Try harder!”

Tony’s gaze is fixed on the utter agony on Bucky’s face, the _fear_. He should have seen this coming. Goddammit, Stark, _you should have seen this coming._

And then JARVIS must have gotten through because suddenly Bucky’s leaping out of bed, pressed against the wall, a knife in his hand. He _hisses_. Like some kind of animal. Tony’s heart cracks.

“JARVIS....”

“Sergeant Barnes is not responding, Sir.”

“Russian,” Tony says, thinking fast. “Try Russian.”

That seems to work, because then Bucky’s collapsing onto the bed, and even through the cameras Tony can see how hard he’s shaking.

“End feed,” Tony says immediately, because Bucky may have given him permission to access the cameras in his room, but Tony isn’t about to do it unless absolutely necessary. He sinks back in his chair.

“How is he?”

“Shaken, but aware,” is the reply. “He could probably do with some company.”

“Not from me,” Tony murmurs. “Rogers?”

There’s a short pause while JARVIS aks.

“It appears that Sergeant Barnes is highly opposed to Captain Rogers’ presence at the moment.”

“Makes sense,” Tony mutters. He’s probably still trying to shake the nightmare. “What about Natasha?”

“Sergeant Barnes is refusing any company.”

Tony sighs. “Of course he is. But he’s okay?”

“He has calmed down considerably, Sir.”

“Good. Keep monitoring the situation and let me know if anything changes.”

“Of course, Sir.”

It’s not long after that Tony’s woken from a light doze by JARVIS.

“Sergeant Barnes has entered the kitchen.”

“Hm? What? Oh.” Tony winces, rubbing at the crick in his neck. He hadn’t meant to drift off. “How’s he doing?”

“He is currently engaged in a conversation with Mr Barton.”

“Oh good,” Tony says vaguely. He scrubs at his face. And Tony must be tired because the next thing he knows, he’s stumbling into the elevator, sagging against the wall to stay upright, unable to shake the memory of Bucky’s face. He’d been so _scared_. Tony _needs_ to know that Bucky’s alright again. Or as alright as one can get after a nightmare of such proportions.

The elevator dings and the doors glide open, and Tony hears the sound of laughter. Rough and a little scratchy, he knows who’s it is, and the relief is enough to make him weak. Bucky’s laughing.

But he knows better than to go in like that, so he announces himself.

“Who’s laughing at this ungodly hour? I’ll change all your passwords. Oh.”

He stops short, because the traces of laughter are still on Bucky’s face, and it feels like it’s been ages since he last saw him, because it has been, Tony, _you’ve been actively avoiding him_ , and for a moment, Tony’s just caught up in _Bucky_.

“Looking good, hot stuff,” Clint calls. And that is enough to bring Tony from his daze, and he stumbles over tot he coffee machine.

“Of course I am, I’m me.”

Bucky’s hunched over a plate of something, his shoulders tense, refusing to look up, and Tony’s stomach sinks.

He mutters something to the coffee machine, filling his mouth with empty words to push back the heavier ones of _I’m sorry_ , _I’m sorry, I had to, please let me fix it_ , because _he’s supposed to be keeping his distance_. Clint gags loudly, and Tony’s never been more grateful for the distraction.

“So what’s cooking downstairs?” Clint asks.

Tony sums up the energy to reply. “Science.” His smirk is a little off, but hey. He tried.

“What about my arrows? You said you’d designed some new ones.”

“Oh, yeah; they’re done. Swing by later and I’ll show them to you.”

“Sweet!”

The coffee machine whirs and Tony is almost scalded when the water pours, his fingers tapping against the cup without him realising.

“You should eat something real,” Natasha’s here too, and Tony latches onto the chance to deflect the attention gratefully.

“Coffee is real,” he replies with the correct amount of indignation, resolutely not looking at Bucky.

“So is food,” Natasha tells him, snagging a bite of Clint’s omelette. “Try it sometime.”

“Haha,” Tony mutters, and legs it.

Back in his workshop he stares bleakly at nothing.

Bucky can’t even _look_ at him.

He shouldn’t have intervened yesterday. They should have waited for a therapist, should have gotten Rogers to do it, heck _Wilson runs his own therapy goup for vets with PTSD; he_ should have been the one to do it.

Not _Tony_.

“I’m not HYDRA,” he declares loudly.

“I am fully aware of that, Sir.”

“I’m not HYDRA and I’m not Bucky’s handler.”

“That is correct, Sir.”

So why does he feel so dirty?

****

Clint’s face when the test arrow explodes into a pink glitterbomb is priceless.

“You could have at least made it purple,” he sulks as Tony almost hyperventilates with laughter, clutching at the workbench for support.

By the end of it, Tony’s almost in a good mood.

****

Tony sleeps for twenty hours straight. Then he’s up, showered and breakfasted, and doubles up on the coffee.

Then he goes to find Rogers.

“We need to talk,” he says without preamble, uncomfortably aware of how Rogers had said the exact same thing to him the day before. Rogers looks up from his sketchbook in mild surprise.

“Sure thing, Tony. What’s up?”

The common room is empty for whatever reason, and Tony feels the space. He takes a deep breath.

“Bucky shouldn’t be going on HYDRA missions.”

Rogers sighs. “He’s ready, Tony —”

“Yesterday was ‘ _ready_ ’?” Tony doesn’t even bother to hide his incredulity.

Roger’s face shuts down.

“It’s been handled,” he said shortly.

“With extensive therapy?” Tony shoots back.

“You don’t know Bucky like I do. If he says he’s fine —”

“You don’t know Bucky anymore, either. He’s not the same person he was seventy years ago.”

Rogers stands up, and Tony flinches.

“Is there a problem, Tony? You seem to want to play the role of his handler. Bucky doesn’t have handlers anymore.”

Tony’s hand curls into a fist. “I know that,” he grits out. “And I’m not trying to. I’m just worried about him.”

“Why?” The question whips out and hits him hard. “What do you care? Last time you met, you were trying to kill him.”

That drives the breath out of Tony’s lungs as effectively as a punch to the gut.

 _Last time we met, you were trying to kill_ me.

“You’re right,” he says briskly, his media face on. “I don’t care. Just don’t want him reverting to the Soldier and going on the rampage again.”

“Well he won’t.”

“Good to know.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Silence.

Tony turns on his heel and walks out.

****

He dunk dials his therapist.

“Tony,” she greets. “How are you?”

“Fantastic,” Tony does not slur. Susan catches on immediately.

“Tony, are you drunk?”

“No,” he says carefully. Her sigh rustles down the line.

“I thought we’d discussed drinking to distract you from your problems.”

“I talked to Rogers. Alone. And Bucky hates me,” he adds as an afterthought.

There is a notable pause. “I see,” she says. “And how did the discussion go?”

“Rogers thinks I hate Bucky because he killed my parents.”

“And do you?”

“No,” Tony says miserably. “I don’t.”

Something must catch her attention, because her next question is,

“How _do_ you feel about Mr Barnes?”

“We had sex,” Tony blurts.

“You and Mr Rogers?”

“No, me and _Bucky_.”

“Oh. And how was it?”

“Good. It was really...it was great.”

“And Mr Barnes feels the same way?”

Tony shrinks into himself. “I dunno. We. Uh. We aren’t talking.”

“Was there a disagreement?”

“Not really. Just, uh....” Tony trails off.

“Are you avoiding him?” Tony supposes that this is why he pays her what he does, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to be particularly thrilled about it.

“Maybe.”

“Does Mr Barnes know why you’re avoiding him?”

“No.”

“Do you know why you’re avoiding him?”

“He. Uh. His last relationship was highly abusive. And....”

“And you’re afraid that you’ll end up abusing him?” Susan sounds puzzled.

“Well I didn’t exactly have the best role model,” Tony mutters.

“Tony.” There’s the sound of a fridge door being opened and a drink being poured. “You’re going to have to explain this to me.”

“I think he’s showing old behaviours from when he was abused and I’m scared he equates me with his abusers.” The words come out in a rush he's surprised Susan understands.

“Have you ever given him a reason to do that?”

“No,” he replies immediately.

“Do you think that maybe there’s another motivation at work here? Maybe he’s not doing it out of fear. Maybe he’s doing it out of trust.”

Tony’s heart stutters. His grip tightened around the phone.

“What?”

“Perhaps he’s displaying these behaviours precisely because he knows you won’t take advantage of them.”

 _Trust_.

The word circles dizzily about his head. Lodges in his lungs.

Happy had trusted him.

Pepper had trusted him.

Rhodey had trusted him.

JARVIS had trusted him.

“Tony?”

“Yeah. Here.”

“Tony, are you alright?” Her concern is clear, even over the phone.

“Trust and I don’t get along,” he says flatly.

“Tony, you don’t get to decide if people trust you,” Susan tells him gently. “That’s up to them. What happened to your friends was unfortunate —”

“It wouldn’t have happened at all if it wasn’t for me.”

“But it was their choice, and they chose to trust you.”

“Horrible choice, really,” he quips, trying to distract from the growing ache in his chest. “Ask any of them.”

“They were betrayed, Tony, but not by you.” A pause, and then a touch wry, “Ask any of them.”

He hangs up.

“You’re wrong,” he says aloud.

Anyone who trusts Tony Stark gets hurt.

He doesn’t have to ask to know that.

****

He hides within the workshop for the next week, barely coming out for food, and even then only when JARVIS threatens to tell Pepper. Clint tries to ambush him a few times, but he ducks him and throws himself into his work.

When he finally emerges, Bucky’s on another mission. Tony hacks into the comms feed and listens to the transmissions until they’re on their way back.

Then he locks himself back in his workshop.

****

Natasha’s looking for him so Tony decides to visit Pepper.

“Hey, Pep. How’s it going?”

“Tony!” Pepper rises from her desk, and gives him a hug, looking genuinely pleased to see him. “I wasn’t expecting you to visit.”

Tony shrugs. “Had some free time. Thought I’d pop by. So how’s it all going?”

“Fine! Great. Our stocks are up, the charities we donate to are very happy, the board’s...managable. Things are actually going okay.”

“Awesome.” He pokes at the pendulum thing Pepper keeps on her desk to ‘keep her calm’, and sees her eyes light up in realisation.

“What do you want?” She asks fondly, and really, Tony’s never deserved her.

“What? Me? Nothing! Can’t I visit my favourite Pepper to see how she is?”

“That’s not what you do, Tony.” There’s a smile playing at the edge of her red lips. “Out with it.”

Tony flops into the chair opposite hers, and puts his feet up on the desk. Takes them off again at her look.

“So. Hypothetically. If someone wanted to give you something that you didn’t want, what would you do?”

Pepper frowns. “Well it would depend on who it was and why they were giving it. If it’s a guy’s number, I’d throw it in the trash.”

“More like...esteem, maybe. Trust. That sort of thing.”

“Oh, Tony.” Pepper sits in her chair, her face soft with something that makes Tony uncomfortable.

“All hypothetical, you understand,” Tony quickly repeats. She seems to collect herself, and nods.

“Of course. Hypothetical. Well, the thing is, Tony, nobody gets to choose who trusts them. It’s something that’s given.”

_You don’t get to decide if people trust you._

“But what if you know it’s a bad idea?”

Pepper sighs. “Tony...Trust is something that’s earned. It can’t be taken. If someone wants to trust you, it’s because they see something that they think is worth trusting.”

Tony fixes his gaze on his knee. Bounces it a few times. “Uh huh.”

Pepper reaches out and takes his hand.

“Sometimes we make mistakes in the people we trust. But that doesn’t mean we were wrong. It means they took advantage of something precious. And you can’t let that stop you from trusting again.”

“Hypothetical you. Because we’re not talking about me here, you realise. This is about...Bob. From R&D.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Yes, hypothetical ‘Bob’ from R&D.”

“No, Bob’s not hypothetical. He’s real.”

“Okay, Tony. My point still stands.” Pepper sounds exasperated. Tony should probably send her on vacation.

“We trust you,” she adds quietly. “Rhodey and I. Because even though you’re maddeningly frustrating, and make my job ten times harder, you’re worth trusting. And we trust you because if things go wrong, we know you’ll do everything you can to make it right.”

Tony swallows hard at the compassion on her face.

“Rhodey lost his legs and you went Extremis.”

She squeezes his hand tight. “And you built Rhodey new legs. And I’m still here.”

“But—”

“Tony,” Pepper overrides. “We choose to trust you. You can’t change that.”

Tony looks into her earnest blue eyes, Pep, who had been with him through everything, who had never had a reason to stay, but had anyways, and he believes her.

****

“He wants to talk to you, you know.”

“Natasha,” Tony greets, looking up from his StarkPad. The elevator door closes neatly behind her, and he suddenly feels like a fly in a web.

Which is probably what she wanted. She looks kind of pissed.

“You’re being an idiot. You could at least give him the time of day.”

“That’s what clocks are for, Nat.”

“He’s hurting, Tony. Because of you. You owe him a talk.”

Tony flinches. “Not pulling your punches this time, are you?” He mutters.

“I tried the soft touch. You didn’t take it. Running away doesn’t help, Tony. HYDRA and The Red Room operate by taking away your ability to choose. Right now, you’re not even giving him the option. Don’t do what they did.” She steps up close enough that Tony can smell the shampoo she uses. “Fix. It.”

The elevator dings, and she walks out, leaving Tony both speechless and somewhat terrified.

The worst part is, she’s right.

****

Thing is, objectively (because Tony’s an engineer; he can do objective.) sex with Bucky? Had been amazing. Mind-blowing, even. And Tony’s man enough to admit it. Surrounded by all that raw strength had made Tony shiver, and the way Bucky had practically melted under him was a heady rush he can’t shake. He’s spent enough time picturing those sharp blue eyes going dreamy as Tony guides Bucky through a blowjob, or burning with heat as Bucky slams into him hard enough to make the ache last for days afterwards. And the arm. The things Tony wants to do with that arm.

So it’s not like he’s not attracted to him anymore. He’s just...conflicted.

“JARVIS, restore video files of the workshop dated two months ago.”

“You ordered me to purge them, Sir.”

“So un-purge them.”

“Permanently.”

“Did you?”

There’s a brief silence, and then the files reappear in their folder.

“Thought not,” Tony says smugly.

He takes a breath and opens the file he’s after. Even now, the sight of them like that sends a dart of heat straight to his cock, but he forces himself to ignore it, focussed instead upon Bucky’s micro expressions as he tries to read what’s happening.  
There’s the hesitance, the fear that he’s not allowed, and then Tony practically shoves his tongue down his throat (and Tony can’t help but cringe at the appalling lack of self-control. He’s not a _teenager_ anymore.) and Bucky comes alive.

He’s into it. Definitely into it.

And then Tony pulls his hair.

Tony pauses, and blows up the frame as best he can. Hits play again. Watches as Bucky’s face goes slack, lips parted, eyes fluttering closed.

 _Wanna feel good,_ he’s saying now. _Want you to feel good_. His words are slurred, like speaking is an effort.

They’re in Russian.

But...Tony scours the image for any hint of discomfort. He doesn’t look unhappy. He seems...blissed out, if anything. And maybe....Maybe Tony looks less like ‘Hail HYDRA’ and more like....

‘ _Yes sir.’_

He breathes out sharply. Okay. So he’d imagined that in Bucky’s lazy rasp, and he hadn’t quite anticipated how utterly on board he would be with that if the way his cock has gone from somewhat interested to highly interested is any indication, and really, his mind is far too devious for its own good.

He tries it out again.

‘ _Yes, sir._ ’

Imagines himself giving a ‘ _good boy, you’re doing so good_.’

Grips his cock as it jumps.

Realises he is utterly, utterly fucked.

****

The next time Tony sees Bucky, he isn’t expecting it, because Bucky’s been avoiding him, and when Bucky wants to avoid someone, he basically disappears. Tony’s co-ordinating dropping off his latest tech for the New Avengers with some truly annoying specimen of mankind and decides payback is in order. He happens to know that there is a full bowl of fresh apples just waiting to be eaten.

“Sure thing,” he says into his earpiece, not really listening. “I’ll drop that off today.”

It’s Bucky and Wilson in the common area, and from the looks of it, the chat is just turning sour. Tony flashes a quick smile at Wilson, and tries not to stare too obviously at Bucky’s tense thighs. Definitely doesn’t remember what it’s like to be sitting on them.

He crunches the apple extra hard to distract himself.

“Mr Stark...was that...? Are you eating?”

Bucky’s glowering at him, and Tony has to suppress a shiver because trust issues or no, being pinned by that murder gaze does things to him that can’t deny.

The voice in his ear jars him enough to answer.

“What? No, of course I’m not eating. That would be highly rude. Not to mention disrespectful.”

Wilson snorts and Tony tips him a wink. Tries not to flush as Bucky’s glare intensifies. Doesn’t imagine that possessive glare while pinned up against the wall. Nope.

In the elevator he hangs up the call and then asks,

“Hey, JARVIS. Do you trust me?”

“Unconditionally, Sir. I always have.”

Tony presses the button for the ground floor and makes up his mind.

_Don’t take away his choice._

_Don’t do what they did_.

****

“I’m not HYDRA,” Tony says aloud, testing the words. “I’m not Bucky’s handler.” Pauses. “I don’t want to be Bucky’s handler. Taking away Bucky’s option to choose is a shitty thing to do.” He rubs his at face in exhaustion. _Very_ shitty. HYDRA shitty. And he’s not HYDRA.

“I’m going to fix it,” he promises himself. Promises Bucky.

Because he is goddamn Tony Stark, and if there is one thing that he can do, one thing he’s always been good at, it’s fixing things.

He just hopes he hasn’t screwed things up beyond repair.

****

There’s a mission with active HYDRA agents and Tony promises himself, he _promises_ that he’ll talk to Bucky as soon as it’s over. He’ll corner him, get him somewhere private, and they can hash this out.

He fiddles about in the workshop while he waits — he’s not suiting up with Cap, not after their ‘chat’, that is not a Small Step — and then the call comes through.

It’s garbled and broken and Tony’s heart goes straight into overdrive as he tries to figure it out.

“Wait, wait, slow down. What happened?”

“They used Bucky’s triggers! He’s gone!”

And Tony hears the sound of his promises crashing apart.

****


End file.
